


With Good Seeds

by stilesinwonderland (itsabravenewworld)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dinosaurs, Alternate Universe - Movie Fusion, Dinosaurs, Jurassic World, M/M, Movie Fusion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-20
Updated: 2015-06-20
Packaged: 2018-04-05 05:43:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4168089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsabravenewworld/pseuds/stilesinwonderland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“So Hale,” Stiles says when he lets the raptors run free and bite at each other. He turns his wide brown eyes on Derek and grabs onto an overhead pole, leaning forward with a smirk. “It’s usually your sisters coming to yell at me. To what do I owe this pleasure?”</i>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Or the Jurassic World AU I promised!</p>
            </blockquote>





	With Good Seeds

“We need you to talk to Stilinski about the job.”

 

Derek looks down at his phone in disbelief and keeps walking through the crowds of children in the park. He sighs, like that sentence was the kiss of death.

 

Everyone knows about Stiles Stilinski, the one employee who’s been there since he was a teenager and a ward of the state of California-- his dad was a legacy in the old park, so he already had made a good start. The one who is trouble to the authority but the one they keep around because he’s _good._

 

He’s the one with the best conscience Derek has seen around the park for years; the one with brown eyes and an unbelievable complexion. The one who winks at Derek every morning because he can and then swings from the bars into the enclosure he calls home and grabs a soda from his mini-fridge. _Every morning_. He’s twenty-one, and he’s also the one who finds joy in arguing with anyone and everyone in a playful and infuriating kind of way, because he’s been here longer than anybody else and _knows better_.

 

“I can’t,” Derek says, because he doesn’t want to deal with _that_ today. “I don’t have the time.”

 

“I know your busy schedule, Derek, I’m the one who fills it every morning for you,” Laura’s tone doesn’t break for any arguments, but Derek is damned if he doesn’t try anyways.

 

“Really, you can send Erica or something, can’t you?” Derek requests, watching as a kid falls off a triceratops and starts crying. Erica sprints over to help her up and give her an antiseptic spritz to her knee almost immediately; Derek knows she’s much better with people than he is anyhow.

 

Plus, it’s very possible Stiles will eat him alive.

 

Laura sighs over the line in her sisterly way. “You can’t avoid him forever, you know.”

 

“I’m not-- I’m not _avoiding him,”_ Derek emphasizes when Laura hums in disbelief. “Fine. I’ll do it.”

 

“Great, let me know by tomorrow morning. Don’t let him beat around the bush either.”

 

Derek grunts as he hangs up, rubbing at his temple. He knows that he has a lot on his plate already: to prepare for marketing for the new attraction and going over satisfaction rate numbers to present to Peter. Another thing on the list should be a piece of cake, he figures, before taking off to look for Stiles.

 

\--

 

Finding Stiles is easy; of course he’s training his raptors.

 

Derek catches sight of him, up on the overhead walkways, running around the enclosure with a bucket in his hands. Derek knows that he always is at this time, from seven to noon, teaching them new tricks.

 

And it’s incredible-- he’s all lean muscle and his focus in only this one thing. Derek has seen him outside of work, walking with Scott McCall and excitedly flinging his hands, or in the mornings by his fridge. Now, he has only eyes for the raptors in front of him, circling back and forth like a pack of dogs. The crowd (made up of other employees only since the exhibit is still restricted) overhead hovers in little packs, peering over the glass banisters into the trees. His arm reaches up, hand arcing down in an even slope and the dinosaurs follow it with their gaze. Stiles grins triumphantly.

 

Stiles tosses a rat into the enclosure and one of the raptors leaps into the air to catch it in between its teeth. “Good girl Delta!” he shouts and the raptor turns back to look expectantly at him, licking at her mouth. Stiles scoffs, “No, you greedy girl, you already had extra. Gotta save for my _special_ girl,” the raptors growl in sync and Stiles whistles. “Blue!”

 

Derek watches as a new raptor emerges from the trees quickly at a fast trot, and it makes a clicking sound in its throat when it catches sight of Stiles. Derek doesn’t know how Stiles can tell them apart but Stiles grins in a fond way. Stiles clicks his tongue and the raptor’s tail whips from side to side as it lowers its head. “No trouble making now-- _hey_.” Stiles lifts a hand up and the raptor goes still except for its tail, wagging back and forth. It twitches as if trying to stay still and focuses on Stiles’s hand eventually. “Good,” Stiles grins, tossing a treat into the enclosure before it snaps it up.

 

The crowd cheers in the background, and Stiles turns to look at Derek finally.

 

“So Hale,” Stiles says when he lets the raptors run free and bite at each other. He turns his wide brown eyes on Derek and grabs onto an overhead pole, leaning forward with a smirk. “It’s usually your sisters coming to yell at me. To what do I owe this pleasure?” He doesn’t wait for an answer. Instead, he looks back and climbs down the ladder leading to the exterior cage and waits for Derek to follow.

 

“It’s Derek,” Derek starts off with, fixing the lapels of his suit jacket. One of the raptors, the one with the stripe, runs into the glass and scratches at it. Stiles points in gentle warning until it shakes its head and departs into the trees. “You look like you handle them well,” Derek comments, looking back at where the other raptors are still watching Stiles leave. Stiles waves at them and grins once.

 

He raises an eyebrow, as if saying _duh_. “Derek Hale, paying me a visit _and_ giving compliments.” He whistles to himself, and Derek can hear the sarcasm when he says "It must be my lucky day."

 

Derek finds that it's difficult to keep up with Stiles's strides and Stiles doesn't seem to want to talk just yet; he hedges every attempt at conversation that Derek makes.

 

Scott McCall, the head of the Carnivorous Species Department, and also Stiles’s best friend, meets them in front of Stiles’s Jeep where Stiles is drinking from a plastic water bottle and Derek is rubbing at his forehead.

 

It’s old, blue, and just as much of a dinosaur as the creatures in the exhibits. Stiles pats it fondly anyways, and says “yo,” to Scott before hopping in and giving Derek a once-over. “Well come on. We can eat dinner and talk. I can take you back since I work tonight anyways.” Derek doesn’t really know how he takes all the time he does to visit all the exhibits and still be as energetic as he is.

 

Derek looks between Scott and Stiles and Scott nudges him with a hand on his bicep towards the passenger’s seat. “I have some more paperwork to do, but I’ll be home to eat in a half hour,” Scott tells Stiles, jerking a thumb back towards the laboratory building.

 

“Got it,” Stiles says, turning the engine over with a non-attractive sound. Derek is surprised that thing even _works,_ let alone is Stiles’s car of choice. It does make sense; from what Derek knows, Stiles is loyal to the things he chooses to be and stays with them to death. Hence, Scott. Stiles turns to assess Derek with his gaze, and Derek feels uncomfortable in his three-piece suit. He feels _overdressed_ standing in the middle of the dirt road and stepping on a couple of small rocks in his nice shoes _._ “You coming or what?”

 

Derek gets in and fixes his jacket nervously. As if reading his mind, Stiles turns and smirks his way, saying “Don’t worry, we won’t be getting your getup dirty.”

 

The way he tears up the gravel does nothing to reassure Derek, but it’s not like he’s nervous or anything. He knows Stiles is an expert at many things, and driving through the jungle is one of those things. One thing Derek can admit after the car ride is that Stiles’s Jeep rides smoothly over uneven ground; there’s minimal head-bumping against the door on the way to his house.

 

Stiles and Scott live together on a small stretch of land just beyond the raptor exhibit-- it’s a small house that’s blue and has white shutters. It looks homey on the outside, despite the jungle in the background and the occasional snake passing by, but everyone knows the house is filled with junk-- or at least that’s the talk.

 

Derek is proven wrong when the home on the inside is nearly spotless in the main corridor and the living area. He can’t speak for their bedrooms, but Derek is now under the assumption that Jackson’s rumors are bullshit anyhow.

 

Stiles tosses his vest on the shelf in the hallway and leads Derek into the hallway. “Sorry, it’s only spaghetti for dinner today,” Stiles says behind his shoulder, and Derek is slightly surprised at the lack of sarcasm in his tone now that he’s not in public anymore. “Scott is lazy and doesn’t want to go to the mainland for food-- even though it’s _his_ job.”

 

“That’s fine,” Derek answers, kind of amused. He’s looking at all of the pictures on the table of a younger Stiles and a guy that must be his dad, by the looks of it when he thinks of something. “Why exactly did you ask me to come, though?”

 

Stiles peeks from around the corner with an eyebrow raised before disappearing again; Derek follows him into the small kitchen where he’s digging a pot out of the bottom cabinet and begins filling it with water. “Oh, I don’t know. You really don’t seem like you get out much is all.”

 

Derek isn’t sure if he should feel offended-- he kind of does anyways.  

 

“Grab a drink and have a seat, Derek,” Stiles rolls his eyes. “And stop looking like I’m planning to eat you.”

 

It’s a safe assumption, Derek thinks, carefully looking through the fridge after Stiles points to it. People tend to learn from their environments after all.

 

One beer won’t hurt, he determines after a few long moments of trying not to look at Stiles instead, popping the lid off and taking a long swig.

 

Stiles hums when he cooks, and he tells Derek about how Scott’s taken up extra shifts constantly to keep their rent affordable. “Seriously though, dude, we work on this island-- why is it so expensive here?”

 

Derek doesn’t know what to say to that (he feels like it might have been rhetorical anyways), so instead he asks, “Peter actually wants to know how you’re feeling about the raptor exhibit.”

 

Stiles makes a half-effortless shrug and stirs the pasta again, but he looks like he’s trying to hide his excitement. “They’re doing very well, actually. I think when fall hits, we’ll be able to put them on display for sure. They have trouble with distraction sometimes, but we’re working on it. It’s hard to get rid of that hunting instinct-- especially one that’s been ingrained in them for millions of years.”

 

“So, no petting zoo,” Derek comments, taking a sip from his drink.

 

That surprises a laugh out of Stiles. “Yeah, yeah. No petting zoo probably ever.” Derek can pinpoint the moment the tension runs out of Stiles’s shoulders. He pours some sauce into a pan and adds some seasonings into it before turning and looking at Derek, leaning against his counter. “I hope Peter wasn’t expecting some kind of report or something. Was that why he sent _you_?”

 

“No,” Derek says immediately. “There was something else-- more of an opportunity than anything else.”

 

“Oh yeah? What--”

 

“Hey Stiles!” Scott’s voice carries through the hall loudly as the front door opens, and Stiles rolls his eyes.

 

“We can talk on the way back,” Stiles says, close to Derek’s ear, before passing by with plates in hand to set the table.

 

\--

 

“Laura asked me to have you check out our new attraction.”

 

Stiles dips his head back to take a long sip, all like he’d been expecting just that. They’ve been sitting on the porch for a half hour as the sun set and Scott had just gone inside, so Derek felt comfortable breaching the subject. Not that he’s completely comfortable with the way Stiles is sitting, collar unbuttoned on his blue work shirt, one leg up on the porch railing.  “Why me?” he asks, looking like he knows _exactly_ why, but just wants Derek to point it out.

 

Derek shrugs, not wanting to give him the satisfaction because smug looks way too good on him. “She doesn’t tell me why, I just have to come and ask.”

 

Smirking, Stiles sets his drink down and pulls out a small wooden chair to sit on it. “Yeah,” he sighs as he settles down. Derek watches as Stiles begins to fold his sleeves up to reveal his tanned forearms. “Your sister is kind of scary,” he adds with that _tone_ in his voice again, smiling as Derek snaps his gaze away.

 

“Coming from the guy who tames _velociraptors_ ,” Derek comments drily, taking a seat next to him and crossing his leg across his knee.  

 

Stiles’s smile goes a little tight at that, but he doesn’t comment for a while. Looking deep in thought, Stiles takes another drink. “We should probably get heading back,” he says after a long moment.

 

Knowing not to push it (he’d been warned by Laura way before this, just in case, like his social skills were below a hermit’s and he wouldn’t already know better), Derek follows him into the car. The ride is relatively silent besides Stiles’s multiple complaints about getting no radio signal on the island whatsoever and he doesn’t bring up the job the whole time.

 

Derek follows Stiles all the way to the enclosure before he starts feeling the pain in his feet from a long day of walking. “About the job…” Derek hedges, trying to keep up.

 

Stiles pauses in his strides, and then halts to a stop. With a visible inhale, he turns and looks Derek in the eyes for a moment before wiping at his hands with a rag. “Sorry, I know you’ve gotta get an answer from me about all this.”

 

Derek nods, thinking that this may have all been him stalling. But now that Stiles has his full attention, Derek doesn’t know what to think anymore. Stiles gives him a prodding look. “So, dinosaur. You need the dinosaur whisperer. What exactly am I taking a look at?”

 

“I don’t know,” Derek answers honestly. He bristles a bit at Stiles’s scoff that all but says _should’ve guessed._ “There’s two of them, both female. Big-- a mix between a T-Rex and other animal genes.”

 

Stiles’s drink hits the block of wood a little hard, sloshing the liquid violently, and Derek straightens up, stunned, not able to tell if he’s excited or angry by his expression. “Wait a second. You’re telling me you mixed one of the deadliest dinosaurs with other things that could possibly make them _more_ dangerous?”

 

Derek, feeling a little flustered at Stiles’s sudden outburst, says “It was a good marketing pitch. People don’t feel like this is a family friendly, open-to-experience park anymore. So we wanted to make something that would frighten them and keep them coming back.”

 

“And you thought making actual carnivorous _hunting_ animals would be a good idea? For _kids_?.”

 

Derek scowls. “We raised two of them because we wanted them to gain social skills--”

 

“Oh well thank god for that.” Stiles shrugs at Derek’s glare, “What? You don’t usually care for any of the creatures at all. You sell kiddie rides on the babies for Christ’s sakes.”

 

Derek is confused. “Stiles. You know that these things wouldn’t even be alive if it weren’t for us, right?”

 

Stiles scoffs. “You guys-- you just never understand, do you? These animals are _alive,_ they’re not animatronics that you can control completely _._ That’s why it’s been taking so long to have the raptors completely safe for the public. _”_

 

Tugging at his collar, Derek scowls, because he’s not understanding anything-- “We made these things in a petri dish. They’d have been dead for _millennia_ if it wasn’t for us.”

 

Stiles scoffs and mutters, “They’ve really got you good, don’t they?”

 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

 

“Nothing,” Stiles shakes his head. “Tell Laura I’ll consider it, but not to hold her breath.”

 

He doesn’t look back and shuts the gate, leaving Derek behind, lifting his pants up on his hips before breaking into a jog into the now empty enclosure.

 

\-------

 

Despite his words, Stiles shows up in Derek’s office the next day, wearing his uniform and his belt with his supplies in the loops. He crosses a leg behind the other and leans against the door frame when Derek looks up from his charts.

 

“You busy now? Figured we’d head out, check things out, and I can be back for lunch.”

 

“I assumed you would just go there yourself.” Derek looks down at his charts and shoves them back into the folder with a huff of breath-- they can wait. He scratches his nose under his reading glasses and takes them off, setting them on the table. He stands and adjusts his tie, walking around his desk; Stiles tilts his shoulder enough for Derek to pass by him but close enough that Derek can feel his presence against his skin.

 

“I tried, but Jackson wouldn’t let me in without a “senior member” present,” he uses air-quotes, wrinkling his nose in distaste. It’s well-known that he and Jackson have hated each other since Jackson had started working over the summers a few years ago. Derek doesn’t usually pay attention to the employees, but he’d had to work out something when Jackson had hung Stiles from the railing in the raptor cage. It had only escalated when Jackson began dating Lydia Martin, head of environmental control. Stiles has long since gotten over it, but the bitter feelings haven’t faded.

 

“I suppose that makes sense,” Derek sighs, “I should show you what you’re doing anyways.”

 

“Yeah, Jackson sure as hell won’t know how to do anything except punch people in the face.” Which was another thing that happened.

 

Derek rolls his eyes and shuts the door behind them.

 

\--

 

“So, Stiles, Peter wants you to evaluate the two of these specimens for behavioral issues or any other dangerous attributes before the public reveal,” Derek says once they’ve arrived at the giant building, pulling up right next to the front door.

 

“Specimens?” Stiles asks, sipping from his coffee and putting it back in Derek’s cupholder before getting out of the car. “They don’t even have names, do they?”

 

“Their names are Indominus Rexes. Will you just take a look already?” Derek asks, feeling a headache starting. “You’re the most qualified in looking at the dinosaurs’ behaviors, we just need you to tell us if they’re a danger.”

 

Stiles purses his mouth but does walk closer to the glass to take a look. “Holy Christ,” he breathes after he finds them, two Indominus Rexes slowly grazing through the thick trees, “Those things are _terrifying.”_

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“That one is bone-white and they both have red eyes, Derek. A kid would pee his pants, probably.”

 

Derek crosses his arms defensively when he sees that Stiles doesn’t seem to be joking, for once. “Not a kid that likes dinosaurs.”

 

“Let me get this straight,” Stiles puts a finger to his mouth, then points at the Indominus Rexes. “You were thinking of letting people see _these guys_ before the _raptors_? These guys are probably ten times more dangerous than Blue is, by far.” The sight _is_ a little bone-chilling, but Derek tries to ignore that dreadful feeling.

 

As if Stiles had directly spoken to them, the larger of the two dinosaurs growls loudly. Stiles’s whole body tenses up, as if the growl was an electric shock to his body. He turns his head, narrows his eyes. The two dinosaurs are turned towards each other now and no longer towards Stiles and Derek anymore. The smaller one, slightly blue and more hunched over, tilts its head and licks at her mouth once. The white one tilts her head in a similar fashion and her scales glint in the light as she adjusts her wide stance; in the light, her skin changes into a more green, muted color.

 

“Do you have any way of separating them?” Stiles says after a few moments, face now nearly to the glass.

 

“You were _just saying_ they needed companionship--” Derek begins, voice dry.

 

“I’m not playing around,” Stiles snaps, and Derek goes quiet. “Do you see the way they’re circling? Those big dinosaurs don’t do that for fun. This isn’t good.” Derek feels his own sarcastic expression slipping at Stiles’s wide eyes. “You need to get them apart, _now_.”

 

“There _is_ no way to get them apart, the invisible barriers don’t work on them.” Derek tries to look where Stiles is, at the two dinosaurs circling each other.  

 

“And you never tried anything else at all? Electric shock?” Derek is stunned into silence. “Shit, they’re going to _kill_ each other--”

 

The white one moves as Stiles speaks, behind the shade of trees, and with a roar, jumps on the other one. Stiles yells in shock-- it’s enveloped by the deafening sounds of the two dinosaurs wrassling with each other, the blue one getting a solid bite to the other’s neck but otherwise being taken down with a crash.  In less than a second, the smaller one is on the ground with her throat torn out, the towering one roaring triumphantly.

 

“Shit,” Derek says, and Stiles gasps loudly.

 

“We need help down here in the Indominus enclosure, now,” Derek yells over the comm as the Indominus keeps taking bites out of her now dead sister. Jackson runs out of the room, not looking back behind himself, and Derek reminds himself to fire him later. Derek looks down as the Indominus drags her sister’s body across the ground and into the shade-- he presses the emergency comm buttons as many times as he can while watching in horror. The roar that echoes throughout the small room startles Derek.

 

He feels sick.

 

“Are you alright-- Derek?” Stiles is suddenly close, watching him with something like concern in his eyes.

 

“I’m fine,” Derek answers. He takes in a deep breath, refusing to look at the bloodstains on the ground in front of him.  “I’m going to be fired.”

 

Stiles laughs out loud, the tension relaxing from his shoulders. “Your priorities are so fucked up, dude.” He steps back and it’s clear that he’s trying to gain distance between them.

 

Derek wipes the sweat from his forehead and presses the comm button _again._ “I don’t understand-- we’ve already fed her today. But she’s _eating_ her.”

 

“She seems like a regular snowflake,, doesn’t she?” Stiles looks up and at the food claw hanging from the ceiling, a calculating expression on his face. He touches at his jaw for a moment and then points.  “You never had an actual person feed them before, have you?”

 

“You just saw what happened and you’re seriously asking if we sent _humans_ in there?”

 

“Good point.” Stiles hums, then his mouth twitches, as if he’s seen this plenty of times (knowing Stiles, he probably has). “But they’ve never interacted with humans or any other creatures, even as babies? That doesn’t seem good at all to me. Antisocial dinosaurs usually become dangerous; they don’t understand that killing is wrong because it’s ingrained in them evolutionarily.” He points out into the enclosure to emphasize his point.  

 

Derek breaks eye contact when he realizes that all the noises from inside have stopped coming through the speaker. Stiles seems to have the same thought, looking away.

 

“Wait. Where _is_ it?” Stiles says before Derek can, trying to look into the enclosure. He puts his face up to the glass, and before Derek can even think to warn him the glass shatters under his hands, spider-webbing up before cracking completely apart around the dinosaur’s claw.

 

The roar that follows is deafening even through the thick-paned glass. Stiles jumps back and his shoulder bumps loudly against the wall and his hand flies to cup Derek’s shoulder and pull him back on instinct. Derek catches sight of the singular orange-red eyeball blinking through the tiny window as it _watches_ them. Derek feels a shiver run down his spine.

 

“We’ve gotta get out of here,” Stiles says, just as the claw hits the glass for the second time. This time it gives, and Derek covers himself and tries to shield Stiles from the glass shards that rain down at them. Something crashes and _zaps_ behind them, but Derek doesn’t look back. “Why didn’t you make the observatory higher up?” Stiles yells at him, sounding like he’s _joking around_.

 

They crash out of the front door Stiles slams the door shut behind him, leaning against it, eyes already scanning the nearly empty parking lot. Jackson’s car is gone and Derek decides that Jackson is definitely fired. Before Derek can catch his breath, though, or before Stiles can make a comment, before there’s the telltale creaking of--

 

Of the main door opening. The main door, only for emergency evacuations, the one leading directly to the jungle enclosure.

 

All Derek can think is _oh shit_ when the Indominus fills the open doorway, head bowed, white skin glowing in an ethereal way. It roars, then catches sight of them, cowering along the side of the building. The red flickers as the dinosaur’s eyelids move as if it’s redirecting its gaze right on them.

 

Derek moves first, grabbing Stiles around the wrist and leading him past the crowd of cars, flinching as someone screams in terror. There’s an unmistakable crunching sound that Derek ignores in favor of grabbing his walkie talkie out of his pants, nearly dropping it in his haste. Stiles sucks in a panicked breath.  

 

“We have an asset out of containment-- this is Derek Hale, we have an asset out of containment, send all troops to the indominus enclosure _now,”_ Derek yells into the speaker. As Derek tries to run, the talkie slips out of his hands and he curses. When he looks back, the Indominus flipping over an entire car, throwing it twenty feet into the air.

 

“The jungle!” Stiles shouts, taking the lead and Derek can feel the ground trembling behind him as the Indominus follows them. “We have to go fast and hide; we can’t outrun it!”

 

“Okay,” Derek agrees easily, slightly out of breath-- hiding is a good idea. There’s the sound of more cars crunching under the dinosaur’s feet, and Derek just keeps running with the stitch in his side building in intensity, through the trees.

 

One wrong turn find Derek falling into a ditch bringing Stiles to a crash on top of him.

 

Derek grunts in pain when Stiles lands with an elbow in his stomach, but Stiles holds a finger to his own mouth, spindly fingers trembling. “Stiles,” Derek whispers, glaring at his _stupid_ face, trying to force him up, but Stiles isn’t _moving_ \-- “We can’t stay here--”

 

“She won’t see us if we _stay still,”_ Stiles hisses insistently, moving to grab his arms, but Derek shakes him off-- he _knows_ he’s right about this. It’s too late though, because the Indominus is only a hundred feet from them and is advancing fast (the ground moving under them feels like an earthquake), so Derek looks around them hastily before taking hold of Stiles’s biceps. With a serious look, he rolls them into a puddle of mud.

 

Stiles gives him an outraged look, landing straight on his back, (he begins to sink with a suctioning sound that would be funny at another time) but Derek shakes his head and globs more into his hands. “She can track heat, and can still _smell us,_ so just _trust_ me,” Derek says, hastily rubbing the mud onto Stiles’s face. Stiles catches on, mouth hanging slightly open, and then he’s grabbing handfuls for himself and pushing them all over Derek too. Stiles keeps going even after they’re both completely soaked, rubbing along Derek’s neck with a frantic but prepared expression.

 

Quickly, Derek pulls Stiles by the waist behind a tree and drags him into a large cluster of bushes, Stiles clutching onto him as they try not to breathe. There’s a long, imperceptible moment where Stiles grabs onto his forearm and he can feel the face of the dinosaur to his left but can’t bear to look. He presses them back against the bark of the tree and turns towards Stiles’s head, nose brushing his forehead. She sniffs for a long second, what feels like a small wind passing by Derek’s face on her exhale, before her head disappears again and it’s gone.

 

Derek only breathes after her footsteps fade completely, and even then, they don’t come easy.

 

Stiles leans his head back against the tree, eyes closing. He spits mud out of his mouth onto the ground, shoes squishing as he tries to move. “Oh, thank god. We’ve gotta go tell the others.”

 

Derek finds his walkie talkie back at the center, smashed into tiny pieces, right in the middle of a giant, heavily indented footprint, and next to a giant puddle of blood that he doesn’t know who it belongs to.

 

\--

 

Stiles tries to get into the headquarters a few hours later with Derek, still completely coated in dirt and his jaw clenched, like he’s itching for a fight. The car ride had been nearly insufferable; Stiles was actually more on the quiet side, because Derek has a feeling he’s mad at him. But instead of leaving like Derek thinks he will and heading home, Stiles keeps along his side and walks with him all the way up to the building without so much as a word.

 

Boyd doesn’t let him go further than the front door.

 

“Get out of my way,” Stiles tries, elbowing Boyd in the side, but Boyd grabs onto Stiles’s arm in an obviously painful way before he can get a foot past him. Derek wonders how Stiles gets anywhere with the way he treats his coworkers.

 

“Stiles,” Derek puts a hand on Boyd’s bicep to stop him from crushing Stiles’s bicep-- not that Stiles even looks like it’s anything more than irritating-- and Stiles shakes himself free with a scowl. “Just go home.” Stiles’s actually goes still in shock, eyebrows shooting up, and Derek doesn’t like that look _at all._ “Go home and get cleaned up so I can take care of this.”

 

Stiles looks at Boyd like he’s considering not pushing the issue in front of him. But then, he leans in and whispers, “That thing is out there and you’re telling me that I need to go home and _relax?_ ”

 

“There’s nothing you can do right now,” Derek explains, shaking his head. “As long as we take care of it before it gets down towards the park, then we don’t need any other distractions.”

 

That stops Stiles short. Multiple emotions cross over his face like he’s not sure which to stick with, until it morphs into anger. “Distraction? _Distraction?”_ Derek thinks of Stiles’s sure hand dragging him through the jungle where he would have died all by himself. “ _Fuck_ you.” He pushes Boyd by the shoulder, hard, before he stalks off in the other direction, and Derek can’t think of what to say to get him to come back.

 

Instead, he goes inside.

 

\--

 

Derek doesn’t want to sit in the chair covered in mud, but Peter insists on him taking a seat as soon as he walks into the board room. Being one of the richest men alive, Peter can most likely afford a new chair. After his mom and dad had died, their fortune was left to Peter to take over the business, and Derek can understand why, from his calm demeanor in such a dramatic event. He sits down, adjusting uncomfortably.

 

Peter’s suit is a brown suede-- only he wears suits that color anymore, Derek feels. He looks as old as he is.

 

“So tell us what’s going on,” Peter says. “Security got word of you but then your signal faded-- the sound was too scratchy to make anything out.”

 

Derek feels irritation-- it hadn’t even been worth it to take the walkie with him. “The Indominus escaped captivity,” Derek says. He shakes his head, looking down at the table in front of him. Grabs the drink Peter slides across the table at him, ice sloshing in the tiny glass.  “I don’t know _how_ \-- the emergency door opened on its own-- but Stiles and I barely managed to escape.”

 

Peter hums. “What we understand is that somehow, our Indominus crushed the command center wiring and fried the entire electric grid for her enclosure. So then the door opened as part of the emergency precautions for escapes.”

 

“Wait. Did you say Stiles?” Laura interrupts.

 

“That does raise a good question; _why_ isn’t he here?” Peter adds. Derek looks between the two of them uneasily.

 

“I told him to go home; he didn’t need to be involved any more than he was,” Derek explains.

 

“Oh, I bet that got him angry, didn’t it?” Peter asks Derek, and Derek folds his hands together, not enjoying the feeling of dried dirt crumbling off. Peter fiddles with his cufflink before setting his wrist on the table, taking a sip from his drink. “That kid has a habit of wanting to be involved with everything in my park.” He raises one eyebrow, and Derek looks down at the table.

 

“I don’t know what you mean.”

 

“That’s cute,” Laura pipes up from the other side of the giant glass table, a cheeky grin on her face. Derek hates the glass table; he feels like a ring of drug lords and not a family that runs a dinosaur-themed park.

 

“Is this really what we should be focusing on?” Cora asks, glaring at Laura, thick eyeliner making her look like a snake. With her hair pulled tight back into a ponytail, it only adds to the image of her being older than she is. Laura returns the glare with a look that could kill without the help of eyeliner. “This thing could kill everyone.”

 

“She _is_ right,” Laura agrees, which is surprising coming from her. There are not many things those two agree on-- but trying to make Derek’s life harder is one of those things.

 

“Exactly, Cora,” Peter says without looking up, “What to do about this.” He sits for a moment, sipping from his glass, finishing it off. “We’ll send out the troops to go and retrieve her,” he decides.

 

“Retrieve?”

 

Peter chuckles, mouth twisting up. “We can’t go around killing my investments, Derek.”

 

Laura looks at Derek with a face like stone, but Derek knows she won’t say anything against him. “But we can if it’s going to murder everyone on this island,” Derek says.

 

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Peter drawls. “Your mother was never that dramatic.”

 

Laura snorts, “And look what happened there.”

 

Peter’s glass hits the table with slight force, and he stands up in one fluid movement. “We’re done here,” he says, “Derek, you’ll meet with the Asset Containment Unit to organize the attack.” He finishes off his drink before straightening his suit jacket and departing. Derek watches him pull his phone out and speak into it before he turns the corner, and feels like he can breathe again.

 

“You haven’t seen this thing,” Derek mumbles to himself with a shake of his head, and Laura leans in to listen. He thinks of Stiles in his arms in the mud, trying to hide from the monster-- how _close_ it was to finding them, the fact that even Stiles was completely unprepared. “They’re all going to die.”

 

\--

 

Danny, one of the younger but most experienced officers, jogs up to Derek with a gun in his hands. He grins despite the late hour. “Heard you and Stilinski challenged this thing dead-on. Any tips?”

 

Derek doesn’t ask exactly how he’d heard that (he can see it in his head already, Stiles charging through the break room, throwing plastic snack bags across the room). “No, we hid and rode it out.” He watches as Danny fills up his tranquilizer gun against his knee, wants to tell him everything about the Indominus that will help him.

 

Peter walks up, looking at his watch. “Everything is set up, sir,” Danny tells him.

 

“Wonderful,” Peter grins. “Be careful out there.”

 

“Thank you sir. I’ve heard it’s fast,” Danny replies.

 

Peter grins. “Faster than a T-Rex, definitely. You won’t be trying to outrun it this time.”

 

Danny grins and looks at Derek, who is quietly watching the exhange. His eyebrows wrinkle. “The only things that could would be the raptors, probably.”

 

At the mention of the raptors, Derek looks up, but Peter just laughs again. “That’s why you’re in charge, Mahealani. Get suited up,” he says, and there’s a moment after he leaves where Danny looks at himself because he _is_ already suited up. Danny rolls his eyes with a chuckle.

 

Derek says, “Be careful; this isn’t a T-Rex we’re fighting.” Because he can’t give any secrets away that aren’t his to tell.

 

“Don’t worry about me,” Danny says, oblivious, still grinning against the storm. “The only difference between the two is that this one has long arms.”

 

The plan is to redirect the Indominus the other direction, North, and away from the park. Within twenty minutes of the mission, the Indominus catches sight of the couple of officers waiting for the command to take fire. Of course they can’t outrun it, so they all resort to trying to shoot enough darts into her body to bring her down.

 

Derek crushes a waterbottle in his hand as he watches each of their heart monitors blip off, one by one.

 

Danny is the only one that comes back.

 

He lost a leg from a tree falling on it but she managed to overlook him, assuming he was dead. There’s blood all over his face that Derek doesn’t think is his, and his face is crumpled in unmistakable, unbearable pain. As they wheel him in, he begins coughing up blood, staining his uniform a disgusting shade of green. Ethan, the medic, holds his hand through the pain and Laura can’t even look as they sew his leg up and try to stop the bleeding.

 

Derek can’t even talk to him, scratching at his stubble painfully before throwing his bottle in the garbage and pacing off.

 

\--

 

The first thing Stiles does when he sees Derek is turns tail and speed-walks away. “Oh, no! This is not happening; it’s too late for this.” His hair from the back looks pulled every which-way in brown tufts, now clean from the mud, and the sleeves of his shirt are haphazardly rolled up; he looks a mess, and an angry mess at that. It looks like he’s just gotten out of the shower and dried his hair with a towel before coming back to work.

 

“Stiles,” Derek growls, wondering where he learned the dramatics from, picking up pace to catch up with him. He manages to get ahold of Stiles’s shoulder but the furious expression on his face when he spins around makes Derek let go. “It’s eight in the morning.”

 

“Exactly,” Stiles says, flailing his hands, like that explains everything.

 

“Peter needs your help.”

 

“ _Now_ he needs my help? He could have taken my help _years_ ago-- months ago even, before he grew something he doesn’t know how to contain.”

 

Derek growls in his throat-- he doesn’t have time for this. “He sent in ACU to get the Indominus. Only Mahealani came back.”

 

Stiles cranes his long neck, then slowly turns around, almost hesitantly. “Dude, is he okay?”

 

Derek purses his mouth. “He lost a leg, nearly died bleeding out alone.”

 

“Oh god, everyone loves Danny,” Stiles said with a look like someone punched him, mouth open the slightest bit as he looks at the ground. His eyes flicker up. “He’s the _only one_?”

 

Derek nods.

 

Stiles just shrugs, crossing his arms and leaning agains the metal gate. “I don’t know what you expected, _Hale_. You raised a dangerous animal in captivity and didn’t teach it _any_ kindness. I don’t know exactly what I could do to fix what’s done.”

 

“ _I_ don’t know how you can talk about this thing like it’s not its fault for killing those people, and hurting Danny.”

 

Stiles nods his head dramatically, a fake cheerful expression on his face. “Because it isn’t her fault! We’re the ones who brought her to life, remember!” Derek scowls, and Stiles lowers his arms with a huff. His expression neutralizes and fades into something more sad than before, but he still hasn’t let go of his anger from before. “Listen, man. Every time Peter asks me for my help it’s either twisted to be my fault and ‘some kid’s mistake,’ or he doesn’t listen to me anyways. Of course I don’t want anyone else to die.”

 

Derek looks towards the sky. “Then don’t let it happen. This isn’t a game or a debate, we need this thing taken care of _now_.”

 

“It’s amazing how much you can get with a little please and a thank you,” Stiles replies with a sour expression at Derek’s statement, looking down and fixing his belt before turning away.

 

“Shit, Stiles!” Derek feels desperate now, like he doesn’t have any control. This doesn’t seem like the time to be arguing with Stiles when the thing is approaching the park, heading _straight for it,_ but Stiles sees insistent on driving him mad.

 

Stiles rolls his eyes at him, looks him up and down knowingly. “If you don’t need me, I’ve got some _things_ to attend to,” he says before he disappears into the cage.  Derek feels like flinching at the way Stiles says “things” so accusingly, but barrels on anyways. “Good luck with whatever whackjob plan Peter’s got for you next.”

 

“Please,” he mumbles, head throbbing, and he knows Stiles hears him by the way he pauses for just a second. “Alright, okay. Please?”

 

Stiles, one hand on a raptor’s face, the one with the blue stripe across its neck, dips his head down. He blinks up at Derek once, twice.

 

Scott, who had been hovering nearby-- he always is, around here-- makes a displeased noise in the back of his throat without looking up from the feeding bucket he’s filling up. But Stiles just looks to the sky once with a noise of relent, before facing Derek again, bouncing slightly on his feet. “Fine. I’ll see what he has to say. Can’t promise much else, really.”

 

“Sounds okay,” Derek answers, hoping it’s enough.

 

Stiles dips his chin, “Alright, good. Scott, let ‘em out when I get up there.” He jogs up the few first stairs and right before he reaches the top, turns down and says, “You want to come watch?”

 

Derek considers the possibility that this might not be the best time, but Peter had told him to wait until he was called to head back, with Stiles. Instead, he takes the stairs up to the walkway, watching as Stiles clicks his tongue in quick succession. There’s a telltale buzzing noise before the gate slides up and the raptors barrel over each other in their haste to get into the enclosure.

 

They follow the clicking of Stiles’s tongue and find the two of them. The one with the blue stripe hisses and clacks his teeth together. “Blue-- cut it out,” Stiles says in a commanding voice, with just a hint of amusement behind it. “Back up,” he accentuates his words with a flick of his wrist, and the four raptors move simultaneously, landing on their haunches a few feet back, spinning where they stand, as if they can’t keep still. Derek leans a bit over the edge railing on his forearms to watch. He hangs his suit jacket up over the bar and folds his sleeves up, starting to feel the sun more that it’s nearing midday.

 

It’s impressive, the calm way Stiles manages to coerce the dinosaurs (Stiles teaches him their names through his shouts: Charlie is more of a green color, mixed with an iguana, Blue has the stripe and is in charge, Delta with different eyes than all the others because of her avian DNA, and Echo with the sharp lines of scars running along her face) into running in perfect circles and stopping on command. Derek doesn’t follow him as he sprints around the open area, and is content to watch him.

 

Charlie, the youngest, is the one that Stiles focuses on the most, taking his time to call her attention. When he finishes up and gives them each a whole rat, Charlie circles rapidly, watching after him. Blue is doing the same, and it’s obvious who is in charge of the two. Stiles has a bit of sweat on his neck and he’s grinning with satisfaction when he saunters over.

 

Without a word, he motions for Derek to follow him back down and into the restraint system. Scott is already there, kneeling next to Blue with a reader, checking her vitals. Her noises are more of a pur than a growl when Scott rubs and pats along the crown of her head and between her eyes.

The raptors are restrained by the mouth, supports holding them up and stable. Derek looks into Delta’s eyes as he passes by, she blinks at him for a moment until he’s close. Then Delta jerks when he’s within a few feet, hissing through its teeth, and Derek jumps slightly.

 

Scott laughs. “You guys in charge; always scared to get close when you’re the ones who made them.” It doesn’t sound accusing, but from a nice guy like Scott, he figures that it probably should have.

 

“Give him a break, he’s the one who saved my ass,” Stiles says. He swings from the bar on his left to go and pet at Blue’s head. “Being on the upper tier of the cake definitely helps. It was hard to come to terms with it, but I don’t know _everything_ about the dinosaurs here.”

 

Scott snorts, but he stops looking at Derek like he kicked his dog, at least. “Not anymore, at least.”

 

Stiles’s smile is rueful. “Things change, Scotty. It’s the way of the world,” he says, as if it’s rehearsed or being regurgitated. Scott finishes typing the results of the scans up on his computer and tucks it under his arm. He heads back to the main building, leaving Stiles and Derek alone, the former picking at his vest in irritation. There’s still the blush on his neck and cheeks from the heat-- Derek is sure that the heavy fabric of the vest isn’t helping.

 

“What’s the deal with the vest?”

 

“Um?” Stiles says, looking down at himself. “It’s the company uniform?” And his look is _accusing,_ but also extremely amused. “We don’t wear suits for running in the mud.”

 

Derek huffs. It’s not like _he_ made the dress code. He motions towards the heavy suede vest. “I mean _this_ vest. You wear the same one every day.”

 

Stiles huffs a dramatic breath out while mumbling, “gonna make me say it, huh?” He pulls at the bottom and looks at one lone patch on the front where his ribs are. “It was my dad’s, actually.”

 

Derek vaguely remembers Stiles’s first couple weeks of work; he’d lived on the island since he was a kid when his dad worked security, but couldn’t hold an official job until he was seventeen, young and scrawny, nothing like he is now. Derek thinks he vaguely remembers the vest from then too-- it was always too big on him.

 

“I don’t think it adds extra protection from a raptor’s claws,” is all he can say.

 

“Trust me,” Stiles replies, twisting his back so Derek can see the remnants of deep claw marks in the fabric of the vest that were haphazardly sewn together, a child’s job. “I know.”

 

Derek clears his throat, trying to focus on his business arrangement and not inquire more about his personal past-- no matter how much he wants to. “I remember your dad. He was one of my mother’s favorite employees.”

 

Stiles smiles wistfully. “He loved his job.”

 

“So do you,” Derek says, wondering when he’d started trying to cheer Stiles up.

 

It doesn’t actually work all that well; Stiles expression fades to deep thoughtfulness rather than smugness like Derek expects. The raptors hiss in the background. With a start, Stiles turns and starts walking towards them, already speaking. “We’ve gotta stop this thing; it won’t stop until someone brings it down. Guns don’t really work on dinosaurs.” It’s obvious he’s thinking about his father, and though Derek doesn’t know all of the details of what had happened, he understands why Stiles is trying to jump the gun this time.

 

If Derek isn’t mistaken, he could swear that Blue leans roughly into Stiles’s hand before he presses the release button to let them into their enclosure to run around. Each of them have different styles of run. Delta’s strides are powerful, sure, but Charlie is swift and varying. “The raptors would stand a chance, right?” Derek asks as they start to bite at eat other. “As a distraction, they’d be fast--”

 

Stiles’s head snaps up from where he’s hastily tying his shoe. His expression has completely shifted, and he looks from Derek to the dinosaurs, and back. “Don’t even _think_ \--”

 

“Wouldn’t they though?”

 

Stiles looks back down and finishes tying his shoe with jerky motions. “I don’t know, because I still don’t _really_ know what this thing is, let alone what makes it tick. They could just as easily turn on us when they realize they’re heading into a death trap, or could end up following her, which is a thousand times worse.”

 

“Can’t you tell them to do whatever you want? You said you’re their alpha,” Derek suggests, looking at the raptors. They all turn towards him and make a hissing sound.

 

Stiles barks out a bitter laugh. “You really don’t understand, do you? These are _dinosaurs_ we’re dealing with here. None of this is close to training a Mastiff to play dead. These guys could eat my head off as soon as they figure I’m not the alpha anymore.” He fixes Derek with a serious look. “They _respect_ me, and I have to respect them back or else all of this? It _doesn’t work.”_

 

“Okay, I’m sorry,” Derek says automatically, and Stiles just sighs.

 

He looks at Blue, rubs at his nose in his confinement. Blue sniffs back and the noise that comes out of its mouth is close to a purr. Stiles smiles before his face drops, and he turns to Derek. “I could probably do it. But Derek?” Derek nods, and can’t stop staring at his cheekbone covered in dirt from Stiles touching it when he wasn’t thinking about it. “Please don’t ask me to.”

 

\--

 

Derek signs in at the front desk at noon, a half hour late, without a word from his uncle. Boyd nods at him before spinning to watch his back. Derek takes a look over Isaac’s back to check the Indominus on the screen. According to the heat sensors, she had been temporarily relocated, but now she’s only heading down faster now that she must have figured out the ruse-- it must mean she’s angrier than before. The guests have all been corralled into the Southern part of the park, but that only makes them an easy target for her heat sensors, all being together. If their computers can pick up the huge cluster of bodies, the Indominus certainly can.   

 

“She’s nearly to the Triceratop exhibit. We’ve gotten all of them to safety, but that will only make her move faster,” Isaac explains, tapping at the screen. “She took out the intersection of the railway here and now she’s going straight for the Valley.”

 

“Which is right above the park,” Derek grunts, shaking his head. He puts a hand on Isaac’s shoulder and motions for him to follow him down the hall and then into Laura’s office.

 

It’s a small, cramped room, stuffed with papers nearly up to the ceiling even though she’s currently on her iPad, but Laura likes it that way.  “Hey,” she says when Derek hits the door with his knuckles.  

 

Derek looks at Isaac pointedly, and he runs a hand through his shaggy hair. He looks like just a kid. “Uh, Ms. Hale, the Indominus is gaining speed towards the crowds, fast. It’ll be there before nightfall hits.”

 

Derek speaks up. “Where’s Peter? Whatever his grand plan is, it isn’t working, and the Indominus is within five miles of everyone huddled together with no clue.”

 

“He left just after you did,” Laura says, looking at him in concern. “Literally five minutes later and said he would just follow you.”

 

“He wasn’t--” Derek begins, thinking, “He wasn’t there--” He takes one last look at Laura who is shaking her head like she’s completely lost, before darting out of her office.

 

Everyone is watching him as he passes by, and a few mothers try to stop him to ask what’s going on, babies on their hips and husbands nearby rubbing at their faces. He tries to dodge one when he catches sight of a familiar head of hair moving through the people, fast. “Excuse me--” Derek looks past the woman and tries to catch up as Stiles bursts through the front doors.

 

“Do any of your scientists know anything besides how to mix DNA up to create monsters, huh?” Stiles is up in the guard’s face, chest out like he can somehow tower over Boyd and all of his six foot-four body.

 

Boyd pushes Stiles’s chest, and Derek dodges some small children to get there fast enough. “You don’t have authorization to be here, Stilinski,” Boyd says.

 

“Oh? You’re going to use my raptors to catch that _abomination_ and now I have no say? I can’t believe you’re letting them get away with this!”

 

“I’m just doing my job, Stiles,” Boyd says, and Stiles glares up at him.

 

“Well I know your family will be proud.” He has his neck craned up, neck tight like he _knew_ it would hurt. That seems to get a rise out of Boyd, who grabs Stiles by the collar with a look that says he’s going to toss him farther than usual.

 

Stiles catches sight of Derek hovering near the computer screen just inside the glass door before Boyd can throw him out and jerks his head forward to get free. Stiles has never seemed like a threat to Derek, but his expression is plain terrifying-- it makes Derek think Stiles never wanted to threaten him until now. Pushing past Boyd’s large body, Stiles advances with no time to wait, and punches Derek straight in the face.

 

His fist connects right with Derek’s jawbone making his teeth clack. Derek clutches his stinging cheek and bangs his elbow on a monitor when he falls back, but he motions for Boyd to stay back with an outsplayed arm. Stiles’s expression is wild, hair every which way, completely unrestrained, “Derek, you son of a bitch, you _promised_ \--”

 

“I don’t--”

 

“It’s ridiculous, I know, that I thought you’d keep your promise about anything. Family works for family,” Stiles rants, face reddening rapidly in blotches along his cheekbones and down his neck too.

 

“I didn’t do anything,” Derek says quickly, still not understanding. “Stiles,” he emphasizes when Stiles starts shaking his head fast like he’s gone mad, little aborted twitches. “I didn’t _do_ anything, what’s going on?”

 

Stiles only huffs. “You even _asked_ me, I should have known, do you guys even know how insane this is?”

 

Laura exits her office in a flourish at the ruckus, stopping dead behind Stiles, hands splayed out like she’s saying _what the hell is going on?_

 

“And Laura! You too!” Stiles yells when he notices her.

 

“What the hell are you on about Stilinski?” she asks, folding her arms across her chest, tilting her head to the side.

 

“The _raptors_!” Stiles yells, eyes wide, and Derek stops cold. Because _no--_

 

“Someone came and took them-- did you think I just wouldn’t _notice_ or something? Because I’m not the one that treated them like they were science experiments.” He looks straight at Derek when he says this, and Derek shakes his head immediately.

 

“I didn’t do this,” Derek says, hopes he sounds earnest enough. He thinks of the way Peter talked to Danny about the raptors-- the way he’d laughed-- and feels dread in the pit of his stomach building up. “I know it sounds the opposite, really, but I didn’t think he would do anything. He brought it up, but I didn’t know he took any of it seriously. I was just suggesting-- really, I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

 

Stiles’s eyes are conflicted, and Derek puts a hand on his shoulder, noting how tense it is when he does. But he doesn’t shove him off, either. “Isaac-- can you find a signal on my uncle?”

 

Isaac rushes to get to his monitor and after a few minutes of clicking, he says, “The last signal we traced from him to was in the valley. That was nearly a half hour ago, though, and the signal suddenly stopped there.”

 

“Shit,” Derek says, placing a hand on the counter in front of himself, bowing his head. “He took his tracking bracelet off. Check for thermal signals in the forest and above.”

 

“In the old park?” Laura asks, stepping up to the screen. “Why would he--”

 

“There!” Isaac points to northern part of the Island, six spots visible. “There are two people, if all the raptors are there.” ?

 

Derek looks at Stiles who is leaning to look at the screen, expression twisted. Whatever Peter is  planning on doing with the raptors _without Stiles_ is just-- “He’s _insane_. Come on,” Derek says, grabbing onto Stiles’s wrist.

 

“I’m coming with you!” Laura says loudly, starting to walk with them, even in her three-inch heels that would sink into the mud no matter how carefully she would walk.

 

Derek shakes his head, speaking clearly. “No. You need to stay here. I need you to begin evacuations, now. Get these families on boats to the mainland and make sure _everyone_ is safe in case something goes wrong.” Laura doesn’t look pleased at Derek giving her another job. “Please, Laura. Peter’s doing something that could kill them all.”

 

She looks down at the floor in frustration. Laura’s lip wobbles the slightest bit before she pulls him into a tight hug, arms choking his neck slightly. Derek wraps one arm around her waist. “He’s always been such an _asshole_.” She reaches her head back, leveling him with a serious look. “Be careful.”

 

This time, Stiles grabs his hand, more sure than Derek had been, and drags him through the crowd.

 

\--

 

“I’m driving,” Stiles commands, pushing Derek towards the passenger’s seat of his Jeep. Derek goes easily (though he’s not sure the Jeep can handle the terrain), and Stiles doesn’t bother buckling the seatbelt before he’s taking off down the stone road at a speed that would break a normal car’s tires. “Tell me where to go.” His voice is calmer now, and it sounds completely different than before but just as dangerous. The grip he has on the wheel betrays his calm exterior, though.

 

“Head straight on this road,” Derek directs, hoping he’s not leading them the wrong way. Stiles follows his directions without looking, steely gaze fixed on the not-so-road ahead.

 

The old, rusted down gate is wide open when they arrive, only _Park_ remaining intact and parts of the tiny word _Hale._ There are lights slightly in the distance that Derek can just register beyond the trees-- that means he’s here. Stiles must see it too because he forgets all pretense of driving on the road and passes right by a cracking fountain filled with moss, over the cobblestone.

 

They halt to a stop still at a distance and Derek tries to narrow his eyes to see. All he can get is Peter, hunched over something, and someone moving quickly through the night. “Come on,” Derek whispers, sneaking closer.

 

“I know you’re here,” Peter says in a bored voice. “They’ve been panicking for ten minutes, now.” He points to Blue, who is pacing at a trot along the fence. They walk up the stairs, advancing slowly towards his uncle. Derek stands up completely, and can see that what he is leaning and working with is-- a video camera.

 

Peter turns to face him, smiling in pleasure, with just that little bit of something off. That something must be meaning.

 

“Peter, what’s going on?” Derek tries to stand up taller, hates how Peter makes him feel small automatically by just standing in front of him. But he’s not the same Peter he used to be-- that one exhuded power naturally. Now it’s just a man driven mad from power.

 

Peter rolls his eyes as if the question was wasted, then turns to the camera. “I’ll explain to you in a moment, Derek,” Peter speaks distractedly until the light on the video camera flashes to signal that it’s on. “There you go.”

 

Aiden, Ethan’s twin (Derek doesn’t quite know how he can tell them apart, but he can), emerges from behind the giant felled stone wall and looks between them all. “Go on,” Peter tell him with a wave of his hand, and Aiden begins to walk towards the cargo truck without a word.

 

“Where is he going?” Derek demands, trying to stall for nothing. Aiden does halt when Peter puts up a hand.

 

“We have an arrangement with local media from the mainland,” Peter explains, like it’s all simple. “They want proof of us bringing this Indominus down, so we’re going to give it to them. And what a better promotion? Than training our own defense weapons.” He points to the raptors, tails swinging and hissing.

 

“You’re going to set them free and just _hope_ they kill Snowflake?” Stiles asks. Peter doesn’t look as confused as Derek feels about Stiles’s sudden nickname, but of course he’s insane. “Okay. I’m going to ignore that bit for a second. _Why_? What’s the point of doing this?”

 

Peter grins at Stiles as if he’s a child, then Derek. “Do you know the potential for hunters, the military, for these kinds of developments? If we can train something so wild to perform tasks on command, this is a _gold mine_. Your mom always wanted to help integrate them into society. Forget training wolves; _these_ things, they’re the future.”

 

“I don’t--”

 

“If you’ll excuse me,” Peter interrupts, “I really should be getting on with this. It’s getting dark, after all.” He smiles once, and reaches a hand towards the door. Stiles sucks in a breath, and Derek reaches a hand out, but there’s not much they can do.

 

Peter unlocks the door by hand with the ancient key still stuck in it, the metal creaking as he swings it wide open. As if on command, the raptors shoot through the opening, heads bowed low-- Derek’s eyes widen and he tries to jump back, but Stiles is already moving.

 

Stiles tenses so fast that it looks painful, immediately pushing Derek back with a hand on his chest. They seem to come towards Stiles first, circling around him; Stiles lifts a hand, a move Derek’s only seen once before, and they all halt.

 

There is one second of calm before Peter, the crazy son of a bitch, _moves,_ walking towards them. Blue growls and bites the air right where Peter’s head was a second ago, and Peter skips the rest of the way there just to get there quicker, standing just to Stiles’s left. “Do you see?” Peter says, like there’s something they _should_ be seeing.

 

“I see _you_ , and you’re completely out of your damned _mind,”_ Stiles retorts, hand still up, and Derek tries to stay behind his back as he turns to face the open door slowly. Peter doesn’t seem to notice, and as the raptors turn to face Peter, Stiles calls their attention with a click of his tongue. They turn and walk towards him again, but this time Stiles doesn’t have a treat for them. “You think you can really control these things?”

 

“I see you doing it right now! Why should it be any different in war? Eventually, we can domesticate them enough to take orders perfectly.”

 

Stiles crouches lower and gives a warning shout to Charlie who had lost focus. Derek can see his hand slightly tremble. “Well one, I don’t think military commanders have the same warm touch as I do. They’ll kill everyone if you put them in a cage with no one to imprint on them or raise them the right way. Second, if you domesticate them, they’ll lose all their hunting attributes. You know what they become? _Lizards._ ” Echo snaps her teeth at that, and Stiles pushes his hands to force her back. They all start clicking their teeth agitatedly, and Stiles looks at Derek out of the corner of his eye.

 

They’re looking for a meal.

 

“Peter,” Derek tries to reason, “People can’t control these things.”

 

“But _I_ can!” Derek steps back as Peter tries to approach the raptors. Stiles makes a warning noise in the back of his throat, but Peter barells on.

 

He giggles, hand reaching out toward’s Charlie’s snout, barely touching the scales before she moves. His laughs choke off with a shout as Charlie snaps her jaw, so quick that Derek barely registers it, and takes his arm off in one go.  Derek watches Aiden, eyes comically wide, before he turns tail and runs to the large transporation truck, driving away.

 

“Have you ever tried to tame a wolf, Peter?” Stiles asks as the raptors circle around him, one by one. Peter is only allowed one look of shock before Echo leaps on him, teeth digging into his shoulder. One after another, they pounce, completely tearing him apart.

 

“It doesn’t work.” Stiles breathes once, then looks at Derek. “That was much cooler than I meant for it to be,” he says, voice breaking at the end, presumably at the carnage, but Derek can’t even look away.

 

When he finally fixes his eyes away from his uncle, he purposely looks past the body and notices that the velociraptors are staring at the two of them instead, now. Echo makes a gurgling noise in her throat, and Stiles adjusts his stance, eyes going wide.

 

“Stiles--”

 

“It’s okay,” Stiles raises his hands, eyes scanning for a millisecond, trying to find a way to escape.  Derek does the same, then remembers the opened door Peter had left.

 

Blue dares to try and advance-- the beta trying to overcome her alpha. And she knows she’ll win, too. Stiles can only hold them back for long before they start circling, Blue in the front, slowly advancing with the other three in the back. Stiles keeps his sure footing, spitting out commands, but Derek can tell their hunger is overcoming any sense they have. “If they grab me, get out of here. Go up,” he says, looking at the diamond fence.

 

“I’m not leaving.” Stiles turns to him for one moment, and that’s when Derek grabs at his wrist and throws them both into the empty enclosure.

 

They land just inside, and Stiles does a tuck and roll before getting up to help close the door as they leap. He uses his free hand to close the door and that nearly gets taken with a snap of Delta’s thin teeth. They growl and try to snap their way through the rusted metal, and Stiles’s brittle breath rushes out at once as he leans over into Derek’s side.

 

With a strong grip, Derek holds Stiles against his side, trying not to stare at his uncle’s body on the ground, and just breathes.

 

“So much for controlling them,” Stiles says with a dry and not-at-all humorous laugh, rubbing at a scratch on his forehead from the fall. He hunches over, shaking his head back and forth like he’s trying his hardest not to throw up. “I need to sit down.” Derek helps him to the ground and Stiles’s hands are shaking like dry leaves against Derek’s arms.

 

Derek can hear the slight wheezes coming from his throat start to come thinner. “Stiles.” Stiles covers his face with a hand to try and rub at his eyes and Derek pulls it away in what he hopes is a gentle manner. “What do you need?”

 

“Derek?” Stiles’s eyes are glassy, mouth opened wide to try and take in air he’s not getting, and Derek thinks this is a panic attack.

 

He doesn’t know how to help a panic attack.

 

“It’s alright now,” he tries. “They’re gone. They’re long gone.” He keeps saying reassuring things as Stiles tries to catch his breath.  Stiles talks to him every couple of seconds, trying to tell him that he’s fine and just needs to catch his breath is all, and Derek nods over and over each time.

  
He sits next to Stiles and rubs at his back for a few more minutes while his panic settles down; it’s over sooner than later. Derek can tell when it starts to subside, and Stiles’s shoulders stop tensing as much. His hands are still trembling when he stands up, but his eyes are moving already as if he’s deep in thought. “Alright, okay. I’m good.” He shakes his hands and bends his neck back and forth quickly. He reaches around the gate door and unlocks the door from the inside. “We have to get going.”

 

“Are you sure?” Derek asks.

 

Stiles grins, and it’s only slightly shaky. “Yep. Everyone needs their ten minutes freakout over almost dying. I’m totally prepared to take Snowflake on.”

 

And Derek is frightened by how sure he is.

 

\--

Stiles runs to his Jeep, Derek following at a slower rate.  

 

“My dad was a cop before he worked for the park,” Stiles mutters, handing Derek a small pistol, “I’m always prepared, like I said.” Out of the small bag, he pulls out three flares, a shotgun, and a walkie talkie. He shakes the walkie before popping the batteries, rooting for the replacements and says, “it should still work. There’s one in the front seat that you can use to talk to me, or in case mine goes out.”

 

“And the flares?” Derek asks, tearing his jacket off and tossing it in his back seat.

 

“Two reasons,” Stiles begins, holding onto a bullet casing between his teeth before loading the gun up. “They’ll distract her because of the heat signatures they give off. Second reason is that it’ll give us light.”

 

Derek turns the walkie talkie on and says, “Derek Hale here; give me a location on Snowflake, Isaac.”

 

“Snowflake, sir?”

 

Derek rolls his eyes when Stiles gives him a satisfied grin for going along with his nickname. “The Indominus.”

 

“Oh! I’m sorry, let me check… She’s--”

 

“What?” Derek demands, feeling hot and annoyed.

 

“She’s, well. She’s headed _straight_ for you. Coming Northeast.”

 

Stiles blows a harsh breath towards the sky. “Wonderful.”

 

“There’s something else, though, sir.”

 

Stiles and Derek look at the walkie talkie. “What is it?”

 

“The raptors ran in the other direction, but, I don’t understand-- now they’re turning back around and they’re coming back.”

 

“Shit,” Stiles curses. He looks around them, and then back towards the abandoned park. “We can’t stay in the open, we have a better chance in the woods. But we also need something fast.”

 

Derek opens his mouth twice, at a loss. Then he says, “What about Aiden’s motorcycle? He left it behind.”

 

Stiles grins. “I never thought that dirty bastard would help us, that’s _perfect_.” Derek can practically see the gears running in his head. He snags his own walkie talkie from the bed of the trunk. “Laura?”

 

There’s a minute-long pause. “Yeah? What’s going on, are you two okay? Where’s Peter?”

 

Derek presses his own button. “Peter’s dead and the Indominus is heading straight towards us; we’ll talk about it later.”

 

Derek can hear her suck a breath in. “Alright. What do you need me to do?”

 

This time Stiles clicks in. “Do you have access to a helicopter?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“I need you to get a bazooka, or a stealth fire-team, anything that will blow this dinosaur to bits, alright?” He waits for emphasis, then adds, “You put it on that helicopter and have it here within twenty minutes. Can you do it?”

 

“It’ll get done,” Laura says, deadly serious.

 

“Good. Keep the lines open for us.” He hooks the walkie onto his belt, hands running over his chest and over the uneven patch on his vest. He pats at it and closes the barrel of his gun with a final click.

Derek leads them back to the motorcycle, and Stiles hops on, hiking the kickstand up. When Derek gives him a look, Stiles shrugs. “Scott has a bike; someone had to teach him driving safety. So I learned.” Derek slides in behind him with a roll of his eyes, and he doesn’t have time to think about the proximity of their bodies before they’re taking off into the forest.

 

Derek is trying to avoid the trees passing by their heads in a flurry when a sudden force literally tosses him off the bike. Derek rolls on the ground, luckily into soft clover, and rolls onto his hands and knees, grabbing his gun from his belt. “Derek!” Stiles’s voice comes from his walkie, overwhelmed nearly by the roar of the motorcycle, “It was Delta!”

 

Derek hears the hissing behind himself and turns quickly. Delta is standing twenty feet away, nails digging into the mud, and just--

 

Watching him.

 

Derek clicks the safety off of the gun and points it at Delta just in case, but when the roar of the motorcycle catches her attention, she’s off in the woods again. Derek picks up his walkie talkie and says, “I’m fine! She’s coming after you now!”

 

The trees rustle to his left, and he turns to face that way just as Blue darts through the woods, straight past him with a screech. “Blue is coming!”

 

“Derek!” Isaac’s voice says. “Snowflake is almost to your location, ten minutes and counting.”

 

As if he were signalled, a flare lights up to Derek’s right, smoke filtering through the woods, before Stiles comes riding through the trees. It looks like a scene straight out of an action movie; Stiles bursting through the trees on the motorcycle with a focused expression, Blue hot on his trail, wipping her tail and letting out a victorious roar. Derek lowers the walkie from his ear and watches the whole thing with something like wonder.

(art by [Andavs](http://www.andavs.tumblr.com)!!!!)

 

The bike screeches to a halt in front of Derek, and Blue does the same, looking right at Derek. Derek looks between Blue and Stiles, then says, “Looks like you _are_ the alpha.” Stiles grins in a cheeky way that isn’t fair when his face is covered in dirt and he just rode in on a motorcycle with a raptor following him.

 

A roar in the distance startles Derek and Stiles, and Blue completely freaks. She leaves, Derek can only catch her tail as she disappears into the leaves, and Stiles looks at Derek. They start running in the opposite direction, Derek checking behind them every once in a while. The roar is farther away the next time.

 

“If you hear anything close to us, you run in the opposite direction,” Stiles orders, cocking his gun, “I have a slight advantage, I’ll shoot to distract her.”

 

“No,” Derek tries to say.

 

“Derek,” Stiles asserts, looking at him. “You have to trust me. You’re the one who needs to go and get firepower to kill this thing if something goes wrong.”

 

“I can’t,” Derek tries to say, stepping over a felled over tree and wiping the sweat from his forehead. It comes out too breathy to really be words, but Stiles seems to understand him.

 

Stiles turns back and winks, but Derek can see his hands trembling the slightest bit before his face straightens. “The park’s under attack, Peter’s dead, there are no rules now. Just trust me, if you see her, get out of here. If you can’t outrun Snowflake? Shoot for the head. Twice.”

 

“You guys won’t believe this,” Isaac says through their speakers. “I think the raptors are distracting her. They’re circling and she keeps redirecting.”

 

Stiles grins.

 

“But she’s coming for you fast. I think she took out Delta and Charlie too.”

 

Stiles curses under his breath, then looks into the trees. “Are you ready?”

 

Derek nods once, definitively, lifting his gun up, looking only into the distance.

 

“Okay, _god_ ,” Stiles says like a curse, one hand moving to grip Derek and pulling him in with a rough hand to crash their mouths together. Derek moves his gun-hand to the side and then around to his back.

 

“Are you sure now’s the time?” Derek asks, but he’s kissing him back with a bite to his lip anyways because why would he not?

 

“Now’s totally the time,” Stiles insists, pushing forward until Derek’s backed against a tree, neck scratching against the bark. And Derek is okay with it, really, if he’s going to die. He does wish he could have done this earlier, is all.

 

They don’t really do much more than press their mouths together, Derek is aching with exhaustion and even Stiles’s strong arms are holding him only loosely.

 

Stiles backs up after a few seconds of pressing them together and looks around for Snowflake.

 

Sure enough, Derek can feel it in his feet, the approach of her footsteps. Stiles lets go of his hand and grabs onto a flare from his back pocket and a match.

 

“The helicopter is here!” Laura says into the walkie talkie. “They’re trying to get a good shot; they’ve only got the one.”

 

“Make it a good one,” Stiles says, but without pressing the button, and that’s when Snowflake’s face becomes visible through the trees in the distance.

 

With a flick of his wrist, Stiles sets the flare, the last one, on fire, and then chucks it as far as he can in the other direction; it lights up the forest amber. Just beyond the light, Derek sees the trees shift with slight movement. Then an eye blinks in the space between two branches, _closer now,_ and Derek swears his heart stops beating.

 

“Run,” Stiles says as quietly as he can, before taking off through the trees. Derek swears under his breath and turns to follow him, nearly lifting a root out of the ground when he trips over it.

 

Stiles darts through the trees with precision that must be practiced and though Derek goes for runs on a treadmill every day, he’s not prepared for _this._ Not the humidity or the tree branches threatening to break his ankle every step he takes, but Stiles is holding onto his wrist and leading him away just as a roar shakes the ground beneath them.

 

“Shit, she’s coming, _run,”_ Stiles commands, looking panicked and panting with exertion. He splits up from Derek at a fork in the path, and Derek can tell by the footsteps pounding behind him that Snowflake is going after him instead.

 

“No, _no_ ,” Derek skids trying to turn back so fast, and looks around the forest, only getting a slight glimpse of white. He can see Stiles, arms pumping fast and chest heaving, but Snowflake is catching up-- they’re almost to him.

 

Then Derek prepares to do something completely stupid. He sprints into the forest, just into the clearing Snowflake had made, and yells at the top of his lungs. “ _Hey!_ ”

 

Stiles’s expression reads as _you stupid ass what are you_ doing, but Derek’s plan seems to work, because Snowflake roars in anger (though her roars sound all the same so he can’t tell) and she crushes a tree out of the way to get to him instead.

 

“Hey!” Stiles yells again, in a different place, catching on (thank god) and the helicopter is hovering just over them. He screams, “ _Now,_ ” into the walkie talkie, then Snowflake roars as a whistle sound breaks through the air.

 

The sky lights up like a firework.

 

Derek jumps behind a tree and he watches as  huge chunks of flaming metal fly past him and lodge in the ground. Flame scorches his hand and he pulls it back to his chest with a curse, and it’s over as fast as it began. The forest quiets down besides the crackling of fire and the fading roars of the raptors.

 

“Lahey,” Derek growls. “Tell me what’s going on.”

 

“There are no heartbeats besides yours, Derek,” Isaac’s scratchy voice says over the walkie, and Derek stands up, blinking through the smoke. “The raptors are moving towards their enclosure, they’re far, but I can see them,” but all Derek can register is _no heartbeats, no heartbeats._

 

The smoke hasn’t faded and Derek can’t see Stiles anywhere in the foliage, heart stopping when he considers that he’s in the _fire--_ but he can see Snowflake, one leg blown completely off and a bleeding gash just above her eye, staining her pearly white scales scarlet.

 

Derek stops dead when he sees that her eye is still open, and she blinks right at him.

 

She roars, one last attempt at scaring the hell out of him and without hesitating, Derek fires straight into the gash on her head, three times.

 

“Derek!” Laura yells through the walkie. “What’s happening?”

 

He isn’t listening, kicking metal pieces out of the way and searching around where Stiles was last. Derek looks around the forest again, pressing the button. “ _Look for his heartbeat again._ ”

 

“I-- I,” Isaac stumbles.

 

“One heart still beating to your right,” a voice calls, beyond the hissing of the fire and Derek drops the walkie on ground despite his sister yelling frantically through the speaker at him to run over.

 

Stiles is half laying and half leaning up, only on one arm. Derek kneels on one leg to take a look at him. “You’re _bleeding_.” He points to the blood staining Stiles’s vest, and Stiles groans “shrapnel,” before taking it off and Derek sets it on a nearby rock carefully before trying to move his shirt out of the way too.

 

“Looks like dad’s vest came in handy,” Stiles jokes, and this is _so not the time,_ Derek thinks,but he’s glad to be annoyed at Stiles’s timing nonetheless. “I could’ve been _way_ more stabbed than this.”

 

“Guess he knew a thing or two,” Derek admits, finger prodding at the wound on Stiles’s stomach, right near his ribs, right where Stiles’s makeshift patch should have been. “Anything broken?”

 

“God, I’m _fine_ ,” Stiles complains, except when Derek unbuttons his shirt to push it against the gash in his side, he stares down and openly ogles his chest. “It’s just a flesh wound, baby,” he comments, voice going deep, and Derek pushes down hard enough on the wound to make him gasp with a roll of his eyes.

 

Then he hears Laura. “Derek-- Derek, _Derek you son of a bitch I’m going to fucking--”_

 

Derek crawls over for a few seconds to pick up the walkie talkie and interrupts her by pressing the button. “We’re okay,” he breathes into the mouthpiece.

 

“You’re not going to be when I beat the fuck out of you Derek Samuel,” Laura chokes, every bit of their mom present in her voice. “There’s a chopper coming for you right now. Just hang tight.” She chokes out a laugh.

 

“We’re closing this damned park when this is over,” Derek says without thinking.

 

“No,” Laura answers, “We’re going to run it right now. I’m going to run it, and do it right.”

“I hope I still have a job,” Stiles comments jokingly. Derek leans his head down, sucking a breath in.

 

“Is Cora there?” Derek has to ask. He doesn’t know what else Peter had planned, but he has the sudden feeling like he may have somehow involved her.

 

There’s a click, and then Cora’s voice comes through, worried, “Derek, yeah, I’m here.”

 

“Good,” Derek says, irrational fears discarded. He rubs a hand over his face in one sweep.

 

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Cora says, voice small and tinny. Derek remembers their last argument, about whether she would continue on with the park, or if she would move to New York like she’s always wanted to. Remembers how he yelled at her, yelled at everyone.

 

Derek figures now he can always take a vacation.

 

“I’m glad you’re okay too.”

 

“I’m glad _I’m_ okay too,” Stiles, the asshole, snarks from below him. Derek growls in the back of his throat. Stiles just laughs with a choked sound, head falling back into the grass, hand curling around Derek’s wrist, and Derek, against every will in his damned mind, smiles back.

 

**Author's Note:**

> come talk to me about sterek on my [tumblr!!!](www.stilesinwonderland.tumblr.com)


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